TWO September 11ths (1996 and 2001) are etched in my heart forever. Exactly five years separate two of the saddest days in my life.

They happened 25 and 30 years ago today, so the day is hitting me hard, as they are milestone years.

On September 11th 1996

I said goodbye to my 17 1/2 year old “serval son” Deaken.

I had been his Mom-cat since he was five days old. To say we were bonded would be an understatement. He was my world, and I was his.

To have a so-called wildcat (a species of feline that has not been bred and socialized to cohabit with humans for 10,000 to 12,000 years) grow up to feel completely comfortable and safe with a human is close to miraculous.  It requires early bonding and complete dedication (to the point of forgoing vacations, not having children, spending a lot on zoo-level nutritional requirements, enclosures and maintenance, frequent inspections that cost a small fortune, and other bridge-too-far limitations for pet owners).

We did it all, Deaken and I

We jumped through the legal hoops, managed to get through his entire life with only two cat bites (both of them caused by Mom and me; when she stepped on him while he was sound asleep in a dark garage at night while going after a load of clothes in the dryer, and when — as a calf-high youngster — a vet was giving him a shot that strung like crazy. The vet told me to hold him tight between my legs and control his head while he administered the shot into a rear leg, and I didn’t because cats hate being controlled; as soon as Deaken bit me, he dropped to the floor in a gesture meaning, “Oh, I didn’t mean to bite YOU, Mom, just that damned BEE that stung me!”).

Here are some of my favorite pictures of him.

(I had to limit the images here; I have hundreds of them!) 

You can read our entire history in SERVAL SON: SPOTS AND STRIPES FOREVER at Amazon (link above).

At the end of his life Deaken experienced either a stroke or a cervical dislocation and became unable to walk.  I consulted his vet, who stopped by to evaluate the situation. He told me (as I suspected) that Deaken was probably too old to survive surgery, and that if he did, he would experience three to four months of pain while he healed.  We both decided to “do no harm” and to put him on pain meds for a few weeks to see if he would begin to heal in that period of time without surgical intervention.

He didn’t. And as the days went by, the light went out of his eyes.  I could see he wasn’t enjoying his life anymore, so I called Dr. Cauble and asked him to set a date when he would be available to come back and euthanize Deaken.  He chose September 11th, which was about ten days in the future.

I called and told Carolyn and  DeForest Kelley about this.  De had wanted to fly me to Huntsville Alabama to attend the 30th anniversary of Star Trek, but I told him I needed to stay home and spend Deaken’s final days with him.  He completely understood.

Carolyn called me during those final days. On one call she said that De had asked about how I was doing and they had decided that they wanted to pay for Deaken’s final vet visits and his cremation. “We want to do something and this is what we decided to do.”  We both cried during that call.

On the morning of September 11th, I gave Deaken a tranquilizer so that when Dr. Cauble arrived he would be as calm and relaxed as possible.

He was.

Dr, Cauble and his assistant came in and set up what they needed to euthanize Deaken while I cuddled him in my arms, sitting on the floor and petted him. I remained calm and emotionally stable and present for Deaken throughout, by some miracle.

Dr. Cauble inserted the potion; Deaken relaxed into my arms and body, sighed, and died.

(OK, I’m crying as I recall this, but I didn’t cry then.)  Dr. Cauble said, “I’ve read that the way in which a soul leaves this life is the way in which they enter whatever comes next for them, and I have never witnessed a better send-off than you have just given dear Deaken.”

Oh. My. God… that did it. My spirit soared at that moment. I felt such peace and joy, a kind of euphoria.

After Dr. Cauble left, I called the Kelleys (De was back home from Huntsville by now) and let them know that the euthanasia couldn’t have gone better and that  — because of what Dr. Cauble told me — “I feel I’ve done everything I could possibly do for my boy.”

Dr. Cauble’s office sent me sympathy cards; friends sent me notes and cards.  I was supported by others during this time.  And dear Poppy (my tuxedo cat) was devastated by Deaken’s absence.  I couldn’t say his name without her crying and looking in all the places where they used to sleep together.  There were two lonely souls in that apartment for quite a while.

*sigh*

I wrote two poems during this time…

I hope you can read the following poem…

It’s a little blurry…

(If you can’t read it, let me know

and I’ll type it again for this post.)

I will always love him.

He still visits me in my dreams several times a year.

September 11, 2001

September 11th was a national tragedy. Those of you old enough to remember it don’t need reminding what the moment in history was like.  You remember where you were when you first heard the news, and perhaps then turning on the TV to watch the event replay endlessly for weeks.

Terry Rioux was in town staying at my place while she interviewed Carolyn Kelley and other LA-area folks who had known DeForest Kelley.  She heard the news first via phone, and then we turned on the TV to watch the reruns of the events. We were horrified. 

Terry had interviews scheduled and had to attend them. I was unable to move. I was riveted. It was the first time I ever cried that hard. The event gave me permission to cry over all of the tragedies that I had “stuffed down” inside to remain strong for other people: Mom’s and Dad’s and De’s and Deaken’s deaths.  I was simply awash in grief.

The first iteration (now retired) of my DeForest Kelley book had just been released on September 8th. It reached #4 and #6 in the Star Trek niche at Amazon. I thought it had a real chance to reach an enormous audience who had been missing and mourning the absence of DeForest Kelley since June 11th, 1999.

But when the planes hit the Twin Towers and the Pentagon, nothing else mattered. No one was interested in anything else, myself included. I curled into a fetal position and spent the next several months grieving, trying to make sense of fickle fate.

Irredeemable Loss is Hard to Metabolize

So, here we are at September 11th again, and the United States is in worse shape than it has ever been in my lifetime. It’s almost too much for the human spirit to overcome.

But better days are ahead.

If I didn’t believe that with my whole heart and soul, I would be even sadder today than I am.

You and I have survived everything life has sent our way so far. We still have the power to influence and fashion what comes next.

Let’s lead with love.

WHENEVER LOVE  SURVIVES LOSS, REDEMPTION REMAINS POSSIBLE.